Cut in Half
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Because of Kaarvok, there were two John Crichtons, each believing the other to be their clone. Because of a dose of radiation, one of those Crichtons had passed away. Watching the recording made by his counterpart, the other John thought maybe it wasn't as simple as cloning. Maybe it was more like being...cut in half.


**Cut in Half**

It's not easy seeing yourself when you're dying, even if it's a hologram.

Scratch that, it's not easy seeing yourself period. It's not easy coming back to Moya to find that you're one of two John Crichtons, that there's no way to distinguish between the pair of you, and that you're the one who's given the green shirt to designate that "you're number 2. You're different. You're the guy who's going to stay here while number 1 gets to take Winona, Aeryn, and pretty much everything else you care about."

There might be some gratification somewhere in knowing that I'm back to being number 1. But if there is, I can't feel it. Not as I look at the hologram.

"It's all in my head," the other me says. "Wormholes – A to Z."

They are. They've been consuming my every thought. Even more than Aeryn at times. I've seen other me's star chart, how a blue star he named after…_her_…was his guiding one. I guess I've been without a guiding star for so long that-

"You've probably already heard what…we did with it," the other me says. And that's just the beginning. You could fry a whole solar system."

_Like you._

It's not vindictive. I mean that in the sense of I heard what happened to the other me, how he was fried by the same device he used to send that scarran dreadnought to kingdom come. How he could have just walked away and let Jack die for nothing. Let the scarrans have the technology that so many have died for. Still lived. For himself. For Aeryn. Gone back to Earth and got that happy ending I…he…_we_…have been chasing for the last three years.

"Furlow is still out there…somewhere," the other me continues. But for right now, the scarrans are back down to square one."

Would I have done the same, I wonder? Given it all up? Make the same decisions? The same sacrifices? Found my better half?

"Peacekeepers…" the other me says. "They're your problem."

I don't know. The other me…the other me…

No. John Crichton is dying. The true "other" is sitting right here. I wasn't there. I wasn't using my last minutes in this world to make a recording for my copy to hear.

"Look at me," John says.

I do. I don't want to, but I do. I don't want to see John Crichton dying. I don't want to see the gaze of a man looking down on his lesser half. I don't want to be reminded that John Crichton died on Talyn, that his ghost still lives on Moya, and at least to Aeryn, a ghost is all I'll ever be.

"Now look at yourself."

I've already done that. I've looked at myself ever since Talyn and Moya were separated. Ever since Aeryn went off with John Crichton. I've looked at myself every day, because that was all that was left to see.

"Don't let Scorpius crack this," John Crichton says. "Whatever it takes."

Scorpius. The enemy of John Crichton. I heard that Harvey got duplicated too, that Jack removed him from John Crichton. I wonder if Harvey knows? What Scorpius knows? If I ever met the bastard again, what would that frellwit see? John Crichton? Or a clone as artificial as the hazmot in my head?

"Okay," John Crichton says. "I'm gonna…piss you off now man."

_Pissed off? I'm already pissed off? How much more piss can I take right now before-_

"Be smart. Don't…push her. She takes…time."

And then I know…nothing.

Would the real John Crichton care? Not about Aeryn – of course he would care. Cared enough to tell me not to act like the idiot I've been over the past few arns ever since she stood back on this ship. But since the real John Crichton died, where does that leave me? Is it better for a ghost to keep haunting the abode, or leave the victim in peace? I stare at the image, of John Crichton. It flickers, like a ghost. Yet even now, he's more real than I could ever be.

"Oh…one more thing."

He raises his fist. And while I'm the other me, I know what he's doing. Rock paper scissors. Pointless, now that I've got Winona and lost Aeryn forever, but what the heck, I'll play.

_Rock…_

Rock. Hard. Unfeeling. Like I've been this whole time. Chasing after wormholes to the detriment of everything and everyone else.

_Paper…_

Paper. Thin. Insubstantial. Can be copied. Like Aeryn sees me. How _I _see me.

_Scissors…_

Scissors. The hand I cast. The hand John Crichton casts.

"Good luck John."

The image fades. John Crichton is gone. He-

_Good luck John._

I stare at my hand. Physically indistinguishable from John Crichton's hand.

_Good luck John._

Why did he call me John? Yeah, that's my name, but-

_Good luck John._

I look back at my hand. I form scissors again.

_Good luck John._

Scissors. Devices that cut. Destroys the artificiality of paper, useless against the solid surface of a rock.

_Good luck John._

Maybe it's really not cloning. Maybe more like…halving. And I've just seen my better half die.

Maybe though…maybe I can find that better half within me.

Maybe I can be John Crichton again.


End file.
